Celibate Good Times
by Andy Hoyt
Summary: There are saints that should be hung. Forget the cross, worship the gun.
1. Teaser

Celibate Good Times

_The preacher said it's hot as hell. Got the devil on his window sill, going down. His t-shirt read "the boys won't tell" but if you want to watch there's a tape he'll sell, going round. So pray it's him, not me. There are saints that should be hung. Forget the cross worship the gun. Bang bang. I hope your hell is hot enough. Forget the cross worship the gun. You're at the gates and almost home. Bang bang. I hope your hell is hot enough. The preacher said I'm gonna fail with three days left til he posts bail, going down. So grab your shit no time to pack. At the end, no coming back to this town. You can see through lies. He's scared for his life. When will he know?_

Silas wondered if it was too late to redeem his life, as the recent events of his sins flashed before his eyes as death embraced his bleeding corpse. For all of his wrongs, his faith could not wash away; his ticket to Hell was guaranteed. He found himself in the fires of the underworld, and his eyes glanced at the maniacal grin that made up the Devil.

A glowing scroll appeared out of nowhere, seemingly startling Lucifer. He snatched it angrily out of the thin air it had appeared in and read it over. Upon finishing, his expression had changed to a disappointed grimace.

"You need not accept your fate, Silas," the Devil spoke to him. "There is a way you may purchase a ticket to Heaven."

"How?" Silas asked, eager to know a way to return to God's good graces. "I'll do anything."

"We have a proposition for you."

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The priest walked down the hall confidently, a satisfied expression fixed on his features. Sunday school had proved quite interesting that day, especially when little Thomas Turner had disobeyed the rules. Now, Father Murphy hated homosexuals as much as the next religious fundamentalist, but he had no problem "disciplining" the young boys with unique methods. His smile increased as he thought about it, whilst slipping into the confession booth. A smile that soon faded away when his ears picked up the distinct sound of someone cocking their gun. The aforementioned gun was pressed up against the wooden mesh that separated them.

Cold sweat broke out all over his body as fear clenched his heart; eyes widened with a surprise and the feeling of his impending doom reaching out to him.

"Forgive me father," came a voice from behind the gun, "for I _am_ sin."

A loud gunshot sounded through the church as the bullet was fired from the barrel, shattered the wooden mesh and the priest's skull. Moments later, an albino man stepped out of the confession booth and walked down the deserted aisles. He pushed the giant mahogany entrance doors open with respect toward the establishment. A gust of cold wind billowed up his black cloth trench coat, exposing the equally black shirt and slacks he wore underneath. The silver crucifix that hung around his neck gleamed in the moonlight as he stepped out of the church and into the rain.

Life had taken a sharp turn since he had died that fateful day back in England. With each murder he had committed, he always felt a pang of guilt and desperately wanted to redeem himself. Silas thought what he did was for the greater good; he had been misled and betrayed by those he trusted. He had been naïve and had paid for it with his life. Death was the greatest enlightenment, the revelations he made during that passage couldn't even be fathomed by any living soul. Silas learned that god was not the merciful being most thought, and the devil wasn't exactly the nemesis he was portrayed as.

Now he had a new task to accomplish, a never ending battle with righting all the wrongs everyone had done in the name of faith. Given the new opportunity, Silas did his job not only diligently, but contentedly.

"_Silas, my son, are you prepared to accept your true destiny? Are you ready to become my true right hand?"_

"_Oui, mon Seigneur."_

"_Then I grant you the task of being my avenging Angel. Go, my child, and purge the world of blasphemous filth in my name."_


	2. E Nomine

Celibate Good Times

Chapter deux † E Nomine

Silas awoke in a world filled with white, as his vision cleared up he realized that he was merely within a hospital. He was lying on a bed surrounded by medical equipment, dressed in the thin patient uniform garb. The wounds in his chest were bandaged and healing, but the pain remained just as sharp as when they were created. Silas bolted upright, eyes wide open, as he remembered what had transpired when he was dying.

"_Silas vivere per l'eternita…"_

He had traveled down to the depths of Hell and God sent for him to return to life. God saw that sending Silas to Hell would be unfair, even though everything he had done was wrong. He had committed sins, but the Lord was willing to forgive him because Silas retained his undying faith. Now he had a new mission to fulfill, a quest to be the real messenger – to cleanse the earth of true filth. No more wasting time as Opus Dei's slave, killing falsely accused heretics. Now he would go after the people who were the real enemies of his Lord: Priests that molest children, murderers that kill in the alleged name of God, and the abominations that the Devil created to try to destroy the faith of others.

"Sir!" a voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he felt someone try to restrain him from getting up. "You must lie down, else you won't properly recover." Silas glanced at the nurse who was struggling to push him back down.

"Non!" Silas protested, pushing her aside with more force than he meant. "Je dois remplir ma destinée!" The nurse stumbled backward and tripped over a stool, falling to the floor. He got up from the bed and cast a glance at the nurse over his shoulder. "Excusez-moi," he mumbled a hollow apology and exited the room altogether. Careful not to alert the authorities that stood down the hall, Captain Bezu Fache included, Silas slipped through the hospital corridors and out of the facility.

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Bishop Manuel Aringarosa sat in his wheelchair in the room appointed to him within the hospital. Depression reigned over his mind, as he mulled over the recent events and the fate that awaited him. Lightning flash and thunder sounded just outside his window; rain turned into hail as it fell relentlessly. Bishop Aringarosa picked up the paper cup of water from the table at his side and sipped the flavourless liquid half-heartedly.

There was going to be a trial, and whether he liked it or not Opus Dei was going to be exposed. Their secret inner workings were going to be up on display for all to see. This thought the Bishop could not bear. The thought of his fellow Christians turning their back on him in disgrace, his brethren and the Pope… Already the Vatican held suspicions about Opus Dei methods, but now they would condemn the entire lot because of his actions.

_Silas…_

Bishop Aringarosa felt a lump in his throat and his stomach knot up. He loved his poor Silas like a son, and wished to God that he could take back every wrongdoing he had done to the boy. It was too late for that now though, the poor boy was dead and it was his fault.

"Bishop," a distinct voice behind me spoke out of the darkness behind him. Aringarosa didn't need to turn around; he knew exactly who it was. The Bishop shielded his face with his hands and wailed helplessly.

"Cease and desist spirits!" he shouted miserably, believing that he was now going mad or being tortured by demons sent to taunt him. "Dissemble no more!"

"It is me, Bishop," Silas whispered to his former mentor. He spun the wheelchair around to face him so that Aringarosa could see for himself. Wide eyed and distraught, the Bishop saw the very subject of his nightmares and wishes. There wasn't sadness or even happiness in his angel's eyes like he had imagined in his dreams. Silas looked disappointed as he stared straight back into Aringarosa's eyes.

"But – how!" Bishop Manuel cried out in his surprise, pleased to see that Silas was alive. "Captain Fache told me that you were dead."

"I was dead," Silas explained to him, with a calming voice. "But the Lord brought me back to allow me to begin my true mission."

Aringarosa shook his head, "Opus Dei is finished; we have been exposed. The mission is over, we have failed."

"Non," Silas whispered, pulled out a gun, loaded it, and placed it in the Bishop's lap. "You have failed."

The Bishop looked down at the gun, then back at Silas in shock. "Please, Silas, I cannot do this."

A smirk spread across Silas's face. "Sacrifice yourself for the Church; kill yourself in the name of our Lord."

"Why are you doing this to me, Silas!" Aringarosa shrieked. "What have I done to offend you!"

The smirk dissolved into an angry frown as Silas gripped the armrests of the wheelchair forcefully. "Because you are supposed to be a man of God, yet you have sinned. You lead others into committing crimes, for brainwashing me into believing your lies." He let go of the armrests and stood up, drawing himself to full height. The Bishop was forced to crane his neck up to meet the eyes of the figure towering over him. "Now, I'm giving you a choice. Either commit suicide and redeem yourself in my mind, or force me to kill you and never forgive you."

"Silas, you're being ridiculously absurd," Bishop Aringarosa now looked at him with fear blatantly written all over his face. "This is madness, what you ask of me."

"Make no illusions, Bishop, you will die tonight."

"What has gotten into you?"

"Sunday is your deadline." Silas ignored his former mentor's question. The clock tower in the distance chimed the tolls of midnight. It was now Sunday, a day that Silas always spent in prayer. On schedule, he knelt down before the Bishop with his hands clasped together. "Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hollowed be thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, On Earth as it is in Heaven, Give us this day our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us, And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil, Then yours is the kingdom, And the power and Glory, For Eternity..."

"No," Aringarosa firmly declared, fixing him with a vicious glare. To his dismay, Silas picked up the gun and pressed it against the Bishop's forehead. "Silas, please—"

"In nomine patris et filii spiritu sancti," Silas whispered, before repeating himself again in English. "In the name of the Father, the son, and the Holy Spirit." He pulled the trigger back and fired; his eyes averted as the bullet made a clean hole straight through the Bishop's head. Blood mixed with brain matter oozed out of the hole and dripped down his face. "Amen."


	3. Mountain King

Celibate Good Times

Chapter 3 † In the Hall of the Mountain King

_Lights blur shifting slightly, always the rain_

_He's there hunting nightly, driven by pain_

_Burns fast shining brightly, dies in vain_

_He's here, speaking lightly of life in pain_

_Bionic killer the spider in his net_

_Comes to his maker as close as he can get_

_Weak little creatures speaking with God_

_Their cries so insane, their prayers just in vain_

'_Cause I am the replicant, to hell with the gods_

_Too late to escape, too late to regret_

_No time to hide, no time to forget_

_Lights blur shifting slightly, always the rain_

_He's there hunting nightly, driven by pain_

_Weak little creatures speaking with God_

_Their cries so insane, their prayers just in vain_

'_Cause I am the replicant, to hell with the gods_

_The rain, always the rain_

_Your pain sustained_

There was something wrong, Silas couldn't place it, but he felt different. Of course, if one had traveled to the underworld and back, spoke personally to not only the devil, but God as well – it would seem only logical that you would feel different. Something was missing, a small fragment that had gotten lost somewhere about as simply as one misplaces a pen, but it's significance made him uneasy. It was almost as though he had forgotten something, and would never be able to remember it ever again. Where was he? He had to ask himself for a third time, and soon his surroundings took their rightful place around him. Silas was sitting in a church at three in the morning, a setting he always seemed able to compute. A location he could always feel at home with no matter what events had transpired. But at this moment, he felt the nagging fear devour the rest of his confidence until he was reduced to a huddled form lying on the floor. A most uncomfortable position, having toppled between the benches with his head recovering from the collision. His mind focused upon his startling discovery of what had been bothering him.

He had changed. Silas didn't know whether or not this was for good or bad, but he had most certainly undergone a serious transformation. When he was at the hospital, visiting the Bishop, he hadn't been thinking. It was as though something else inside of him took over and made him say the things he did and carry out actions he wouldn't normally commit. Silas was torn between what he had thought for years and the newly gained knowledge. Sure, the Bishop had wronged him and many others, but the old him wouldn't have resorted to such drastic measures.

Silas's face was contorted into an expression of utter horror. This wasn't him; surely it wasn't, was it? He struggled to emerge free of the floor, pressing his hands against the ground to pick himself up. A sharp pain cut deep in his hand, a sensation that was welcomingly familiar – an old friend, and he looked down to see a broken mirror shard from a compact had seared through his hand. As he brought his hand up to view the wound, laughter echoed off the church walls. Startled, Silas jumped up and looked quickly about for the intruder.

Empty, the entire building was empty save for him. And then his ears picked up the distinct sound of someone sliding bullets into the slots within a gun, spinning it around with loud metallic clicks and then finally fastening it into place. "Show yourself!" Silas shouted, and was only answered laughter, followed by a statement that shocked him completely.

"Why, Silas, I am you."

"Quoi!" Silas couldn't believe his ears; he involuntarily backed up and knocked over the bench behind him.

"Look inside yourself, I am the monster you've always hated; the murderer and the sinner."

Speechless, Silas continued his search around the church for something to confirm where this person was.

"We've never been able to fully merge seamlessly together. You struggle to remain that poor child back in your past, whilst I have grown up to meet this harsh world with vengeance. While you cry and beat yourself in your misery, I have gone out and physically done something about our enemies. It is time, Silas – you and I, to become one. For you to bring yourself to the present and face the fact that the past is long gone."

"NON!" Silas screamed, covering his hands over his ears. He was going insane, and his mouth was producing the words spoken by this familiar stranger. "You are not me! You are a demon – a devil – a _beast_!"

Ignoring himself, his alleged conscious continued on. "It is time for me to take over now. With my guidance, we shall both eradicate the vicious blasphemy and cleanse the world in the Lord's name."

Eyes wide, frozen in place, Silas felt a dark shadow fall over him like a cold blanket. It engulfed his being and merged with his cells and his soul. When the transformation was complete, a devilish grin spread across his face and widened until he burst out into a diabolical cackling fit. Silas composed himself and kneeled down before the giant cross at the front of the church. Hands clasped together, he closed his eyes, and began to truly embrace his destiny.

"_To be a true slayer of demonic sacrilege, thou must become more than a human man… Silas vivere per l'eternita…"_

By some unseen force, the glass shard was repelled from his flesh and it fell to the floor with a light clatter. The blood surrounding the wound retracted and the opening sealed itself, leaving no evidence that he had ever been cut.

"_Prepare yourself, my son, for your first trial."_

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In Response to Commentary

Thanks to all that left reviews, and to clear something up for you: Silas wanted Aringarosa to sacrifice himself, and go to hell willingly.


	4. Personal Jesus

Celibate Good Times

Chapter 4 † Personal Jesus

_Reach out and touch faith_

_Your own personal Jesus_

_Someone to hear your prayers_

_Someone who cares_

_Your own personal Jesus_

_Someone to hear your prayers_

_Someone who's there_

_Feeling unknown_

_And you're all alone_

_Flesh and bone_

_By the telephone_

_Lift up the receiver_

_I'll make you a believer_

_Take second best_

_Put me to the test_

_Things on your chest_

_You need to confess_

_I will deliver_

_You know I'm a forgiver_

_Reach out and touch faith_

_Reach out and touch faith_

_Your own personal Jesus..._

_Feeling unknown_

_And you're all alone_

_Flesh and bone_

_By the telephone_

_Lift up the receiver_

_I'll make you a believer_

_I will deliver_

_You know I'm a forgiver_

_Reach out and touch faith_

_Your own personal Jesus_

_Reach out and touch faith_

Silas found himself in the dark room of the Opus Dei house, the very place where he had died. Just outside, in the courtyard, his body had laid bullet ridden. He felt like a ghost standing in the shadow of his previous life. Desolate and depressed, his emotions rippled through him like stones cast in a pool of water; eyes vigilantly watching the droplets of rain roll down the window. This was the exact same window he had gazed out of before he had died… All of those memories flooded his mind as he stood in the midst of nostalgia. Silas was different now, a changed person, although he couldn't help but feel apprehensive toward the way life was heading. He was uncertain whether he had lost his mind after the ordeals in his past life. Surely after all his traumatizing hardship that he would be the perfect specimen for insanity.

It was during moments like these, when he reflected on his actions, that he would begin to question his beliefs. In his prior lifetime, those questions would have been violently suppressed. But now that he was free of that servitude, his mind had opened up to those possibilities. The main question in his mind resonated deep from within, and relentlessly plagued his thoughts during these past days.

_Who am I?_

Logically and within all reason, he was Silas – a former Opus Dei monk, always a servant of the Lord no matter what ranking garment he wore. Be it civilian attire, or religious, his soul remained bound by the same code. Code… now there was a word he had been avoiding since his recovery. That blasted fiasco with the American scholar and his accomplice the French cryptographer had sent… Silas halted his train of thought, letting the unfinished sentence diminish like a forgotten whisper. His mission was to reform himself; dwelling on the past would prevent him from achieving that goal. He had to accept and forgive, after all wasn't it he who owed them an apology? And when this crusade came to an end, he would apologize to them, but now was not the time. Now was time for him to seek out his first task, the true beginning of the trials he was to face.

He closed his eyes for a moment, to absorb the peace surrounding the environment before standing up. This would be the last time he would come here, to his grave – yet he could not leave without laying a flower upon the soil. Silas stopped in the courtyard, instantly focusing his gaze on the ground he had fallen upon. It was there that he stooped down, to pray for his future self and to say farewell to his past self.

Then he set off, following only his inner instincts as to where his path should lead him. For hours he walked, taking little notice in the failing light until night had besieged him. Another hour later, he found himself entering a graveyard in the more rural countryside. It was only a stone's throw away from an abandoned church; Silas observed it to be horribly run down and turned (to his dismay and disgust) into a haven for troublesome juvenile delinquents. This he could determine from the obscene graffiti on the walls and the laughter of teenagers lounging on tombstones. The scene they presented made Silas furious at their blatant disrespect for property (religious or otherwise) and their portrayal of some cult. It wasn't that they were trying to be some sort of satanic cult, but that they were treating it as nothing more than a joke. This was obvious in the way they were laughing in hysterics at the jokes they were making, and on top of all this: burning bibles amid the couple of black cat bodies. It was such a display that made his blood boil, and regardless of their age Silas would teach them a lesson.

Something made him pause before stepping out into their vision. Even he was confused at this sudden change of motion. It was his inner child, the spirit that (as his monstrous form pointed out) still huddled in a corner, that caused the action. It called out to him in a whispery voice; it called out for him to rethink his crusade. _Don't follow through_, the child cried trying to reach out to the older Silas. Was this his true conscious speaking? Or was this another apparition designed to test his loyalty to God? Silas was uncertain, a disposition becoming quite frequent, and didn't know who to listen to. Again the question popped up into his mind, this time in a more desperate plea.

_Who am I?_

Was this the child speaking? Its lips were not moving, only its eyes stared deep into his soul beginning to brim with tears. Silent up until now, his more monstrous form decided to step in before Silas could fall down in another emotional breakdown. It gripped his shoulder tightly, almost reassuring, but still quite forceful. Its brutal confidence flowing through its fingertips into his arm, as it narrowed its eyes at him as though it was disappointed. _Christ's sake, man, get a grip and fulfill your mission. _Silas frowned at them both, torn by the angels and demons upon his shoulders; heavy like the burden of this crusade. Eventually, the stronger spirit won out and he advanced upon the misfits standing around their bonfire.

"Have you no respect?" Silas snarled at them, eyes filled with complete disgust. They jumped up in alarm and glared at this intruder. Who was this man to tell them what to do? They were adults now, or at least they fancied themselves as such, and bearing that title they now carried their independence on their sleeves. This was a free country after all, wasn't it? They quickly masked their surprise with an appearance that came off supercilious. Their first mistake was being there at all, but their second one was mistaking the cross around his neck as a sign of his weakness. They assumed he was just some priest, who couldn't possibly hurt a fly. Well, they were in for a big surprise.

"You can't tell us what to do," one of them called out defiantly. The others seconded his opinion with a resounding volley of 'yeah'. Yet this did nothing to deter Silas in his quest of purification. He didn't wait for them to justify their due comeuppance; Silas began his chant as he kneeled down in front of a cross grave marker:

"Our Father, which art in Heaven,

Hollowed be thy name,

Thy kingdom come,

Thy will be done,

On Earth as it is in Heaven,

Give us this day our daily bread,

And forgive us our trespasses,

As we forgive those who trespass against us,

And lead us not into temptation,"

They didn't move, they just stood there watching this curious display. Finally, in the midst of his prayer one of them couldn't take it any longer and brandished his pocket knife. Even from his position, Silas recognized it as a brand new Swiss army make – a design equipped with multiple blades that looked sharp enough to spear an animal. Before the boy with the knife could say anything, another boy pulled out the gun he had concealed in his hooded sweatshirt.

"Shut the hell up, old man!" he exclaimed, hoping to interrupt Silas's prayer and to intimidate him into leaving them alone. That was one wish he would never comply them with, but when he made no sign of moving or halting his speech – the boy with the gun decided to take action. "I warned you, man!" And he pulled the trigger not once, but several times. The bullets pierced through Silas, splattering blood against the headstone behind him. The metallic tasting liquid poured out of his mouth and dribbled down his chin, yet even through all of this he continued.

"But deliver us from evil,

Then yours is the kingdom,

And the power and Glory,

For Eternity..."

At the word eternity, he swiftly pulled out the HK P10 from the pocket of his coat. This movement instantly silenced the lot of them, and their faces mirrored their trepidation. In their fear, the rest of them pulled out their own assortment of guns and opened fire upon him. Yet their bullets could not faze him in the least, they would pass through his flesh and then the wounds would heal as rapidly as they were ravished. He pointed it the boy in the middle, the one who had shot him first.

"Amen," and the gunshots rang out from his side. Within seconds, the adolescent delinquents were strewn about the graveyard before they even had time to flee, and Silas was standing there with his smoking pistol. After every recent kill, he felt numb and cold with the knowledge of what death was like. Certainly, he knew they deserved some form of punishment, but sometimes he wished it wasn't he that was the reaper. And now that the deed was done, his monstrosity abandoned him until the next time he was needed. Yet the child remained, huddled in his corner – lamenting the deeds of his present self.

_Am I death?_


End file.
